


A Mild Sort of Resurrection

by sigaloenta



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Cohort, Crack Treated Extremely Seriously, Gen, Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Mildly unreliable narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigaloenta/pseuds/sigaloenta
Summary: In all the extensive special briefings and all-hands bulletins and strict sets of orders preparatory to the Emperor Divine's inspection tour of the Avernus, no one had considered that God might desire to fetch Himself a coffee.
Relationships: John Gaius | Necrolord Prime & Gideon Nav, background Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus - Relationship
Comments: 43
Kudos: 180





	A Mild Sort of Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the folks on the People's Tomb Discord Server for throwing out this idea, which, in typical fashion, I made much less funny. Also, I know less about making espresso drinks than Harrowhark Nonagesimus knows about swords, so be forewarned.

_"Our God the Emperor sees fit to grace the Third Cafeteria_."

The King Undying, the Kindly Prince of Death, Resurrector of Humankind, had neither attendants nor guards when he walked through the corridors of the warship _Avernus_ : for what protection does the Emperor Over the River need in the midst of His soldiers? What train could add dignity to the person of God himself? There was no one but recognized His presence as soon as he entered, although He wore no pomp but the crown of leaves and bones. As He proceeded through the Third Cafeteria, acknowledging the salutes and curtseys as He passed, those whose eyes met His shuddered with joy and their hearts were filled with awe at the glimpse of the æterne they saw therein.

"And the coffee counter must be over there," said God. "Will you have anything, Admiral?"

A woman could serve forty years in the Fleet and never be in the same sector as the King Undying, and such had indeed been the lot of Scipionilla Triskis until the Emperor had arrived on her ship a day ago. Still, she did not hesitate or falter at this astonishing offer of a divine favor. "You honor me, Kindly Prince, but I have had sufficient coffee already." Neither she nor any one of her staff had slept in 36 hours, and she intended to give every BARI-officer on the ship a commendation when the imperial visit was over.

"Not even a packet of biscuits…? Very well." 

Chairs clattered as their occupants scattered to the walls and came to stiff attention or made low genuflection; more than one table was turned over in the excitement. Newly-minted lieutenants tried to edge closer; a few cadets from the Junior Cohort Territorials who were late to their duty-watches edged back, as if the Emperor would know by sight that they were delinquent. In all the extensive special briefings and all-hands bulletins and strict sets of orders preparatory to the Emperor Divine's inspection tour of the _Avernus_ , no one had considered that God might desire to fetch Himself a coffee.

The Emperor approached the coffee counter, the Admiral trailing a respectful pace behind. The group of junior officers who had been cluttered near the counter dissolved into reverences. A diminutive Lieutenant, who wore the black bands of the Ninth House and the half-robe of a Chaplain of the Locked Tomb over her impeccable officer whites, folded herself ungracefully into a low curtsey. Her pair of companions, an exceedingly youthful necromancer and cavalier whose blue bands explained somewhat their improbable lieutenants' pips, were only a fraction slower to make their militarily precise bows, although the cavalier had to elbow her necromancer and hiss in his ear before he put down the cup he must have just ordered. (Luckily for God, He either did not notice or did not display His notice where the teenaged officers could see.)

There was only one soldier behind the coffee counter. She was young, but had the unmistakeable muscles of an infantrywoman and the weather-tanned skin to prove she had seen frontline action. In other respects, however, she was not the portrait of the Cohort's finest that the Admiral might have wished to offer up to the Lord Over the River. It might be within Cohort Regulations to shed one's uniform jacket and roll up one's sleeves while on "BARI Patrol," but the coffee-officer's unnecessary smoked-dark glasses were decidedly not. The rag tossed over her shoulder was grubby, and her white apron was dusted with grounds. Her shockingly red hair had grown out of its trim to the outer limit of military propriety, and there was an inexplicable smear of alabaster paint on one slightly flushed cheek. As the Emperor neared, she had the sense to hurriedly take off and pocket the sunglasses and smooth her mussed hair into some semblance of orderliness. She briefly looked down as if considering the logistical possibilities of bowing, and settled on a hasty but tolerably respectful salute. Amber yellow eyes met the divine black pools whose depths lead to the infinite.

God blinked.

Corporal Gideon Nav of the 109th Infantry, Tetra Territorials, at present serving as Petty-Officer First Class and Coffee-Specialist on the Leviathan-class warship _Avernus_ , was oblivious to the effect of her appearance on the King Undying. "What can I get for you today, Lord of the Infinite Beyond?" She said.

The Emperor's smile was kind. "Make me whatever your specialty is."

But Gideon Nav was insensible of the Kindly Prince of Death's gracious invitation to offer up to Him the proudest fruits of her skill, the pinnacle of her dutiful service. "Oh I can make anything you want, Æternal Liege. I'm kind of a BARI-star around here. Just give me the order." Admiral Scipionilla winced, but dared not intervene. She made a note that a certain coffee-specialist would _not_ be getting a commendation. Quite the opposite.

The King Over the River raised an eyebrow. "Can you make a flat white?"

Nav let out a long whistle. "Should have seen that one coming, Nav," she said under her breath. "You've come to the right place, Majesty of Mortality. Dark roast or light?"

"Er, Dark, please." God looked somewhat doubtful, and when He spoke again, His voice was carefully gentle, as if offering an overeager volunteer a way out. "It's been at least three and a half millennia since anyone has made me a flat white. You really can make me something else."

"I bet," the coffee-officer was measuring out beans. "That tome about archaic coffee-drinks Harrow made me read was at _least_ five thousand years old." She did not sound as though she generally approved of tomes. "I guess it's paying off, though. Don't worry, Merciful King of Death, I got this. Medium or high BARI–or wait, you probably don't need any of that, do you? On account of being God?" For the first time, she showed the slightest mark of awed, as if the full scope of the Emperor's immortality and omnipotence had finally dawned on her. "Do you even need coffee? Lord."

Admiral Scipionilla clenched her fists, perhaps to avoid putting her face in her hands, but God simply sounded amused when he answered. "To take your question in reverse order, yes, as much as anyone needs a stimulant, and, no BARI, thank you."

"Huh." Nav set the beans to grind and measured out milk. If the prospect of recreating a drink from the ancient annals of Cohort history and making it for the Necrolord Prime rattled her in the slightest, she gave no sign.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses watched with resigned interest as she packed the shot and pulled it, steamed the milk, tapped the steamer-jug, and began to assemble the drink in a disposable cup. She fiddled with the jug a last time, then pushed the drink over. "Your flat white, Sovereign of All Souls." She had drawn the imperial skull, crowned, in the thin layer of microfoam.

An odd expression came over the Emperor's face when He took the cup and saw the design. He sighed, and lifted it to drink. And then drank again, more deeply. Our Lord and Resurrector never speaks without sincerity, but it was with particular warmth that He said, "Nicely done. I could swear the coffee gets worse every century, but this really isn't bad. Even Augustine might approve."

The coffee officer was leaning on the counter in bright-eyed anticipation of the Emperor's verdict. She grinned, although she clearly had no idea what His last comment meant. "I guess we're not so different after all, Necronomic Sovereign: you Resurrected the Nine Houses; I resurrect coffee drinks."

The Emperor who was once Man, but became God, was not offended, for he laughed. "Indeed," he murmured. "If only I had had a tome of instructions for the Resurrection, and someone to make me read it." He sighed again, and shook his head. "Commendable experimental archæology, ah, Corporal–"

Admiral Scipionilla stepped to his shoulder and began to whisper the name, but the corporal had startled to attention at the sight of her commander and beat her to it. "Nav, Emperor Supreme. Gideon Nav, Tetra Territorials, 109th Infantry."

Without warning, the Emperor's hand jolted and He nearly spilled his coffee. " _Gideon_ Nav?" He muttered something else of which the only distinct words were "name" and "eyes."

"I was a foundling on the Ninth, joined the Cohort as soon as they would take me," Nav said with pride, misunderstanding entirely the question the Emperor had not asked. "Two tours on the front. My life and my sword are yours, Resurrecting Sire. The coffee's just the cherry on top."

The Ransomer of Death, Savior of mankind, winced–O gentle prince, to be moved even after a myriad, by the simple words of devotion to our Emperor and our God! "I am glad of your service and your loyalty, Gideon Nav. The Nine Houses are glad." He was staring again at the soldier's eyes. Finally, He closed His eyes briefly, as if something had been decided. He beckoned her forward, and Nav leaned awkwardly over the counter and ducked her head so He could place a thumb on her forehead. "My blessing, such as it is, be upon you." He sounded almost sad as He drew His hand away. Petty-Officer Nav, for once, said nothing.

The moment was threatening to stretch from religious silence to interpersonal discomfort when Admiral Scipionilla touched the Emperor's arm. "May I venture to bring to the attention of the Kindly Prince that the meeting with the Commandant of Trentham and the joint-generals of the Tetra Territorials began a quarter of an hour ago."

The emperor sighed. "And so once again I shall arrive fifteen minutes late with Starbucks. Lead on, Admiral."

He turned, and moved back through the flutter of obeisances. In His wake, the queue at the coffee-counter reformed.

"Oh god damn it all," said Gideon Nav, her reverence having left the cafeteria along with the Emperor Who is God. "I'm going to have to make that fucking drink forever, now, aren't I."

**Author's Note:**

> _"What in the Holy Resurrection is this??" Said the voice of Abigail Pent._


End file.
